


(im)mortal

by kiimigi



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, Immortals, M/M, but nobody stays dead, just their regular way of flirting, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:08:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiimigi/pseuds/kiimigi
Summary: In which, Hannibal is an immortal and Will takes this as an excuse to murder him
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 51





	(im)mortal

**Author's Note:**

> Kind of set in the later half of season 2 but not really

Will Graham should have probably stopped at one glass.

The evening was growing old and dark blue, Will had been in lingering in between the staying and going. Hannibal had suggested breaking open an old vintage then. “It’d be a pity to drink it alone” With that small temptation, Will Graham pulled off his coat.

Hannibal opened the bottle with showman ship, the cork coming away with a satisfying pop and his eyes slipped close as he took a moment to smell the cork. He handed the cork to Will as he filled two glasses with blood red wine. It was very good wine, rich and sweet and draped over Will’s senses like a velvet cloak.

Will sat low in his chair, his legs stretched out in front of him. Neither of them had said anything for some time now and neither felt the need to fill the silence. Will stared deep into the fire, crackling and burning trapped in its hearth, images forming and dancing away as soon as they were formed. An opera played from a vinyl in the corner, the low mournful sound mixed with the fire crackle and set the base line of the scene. It was an opera Will had heard snippets of before but had never asked what it was called. Everything seemed dulled and sluggish, each second taking its time and leisurely dragging along.

Hannibal was a pressure, a shadow coming up from behind him, that Will was hyper aware of as he ran his hand over the back of his seat. Hannibal comes to sit next to him. Will lazily rolled his head, loose in its socket, to keep Hannibal in his peripheral. Hannibal leaned his elbow against the arm rest, all elegant limbs and cut shoulders.

“I must take you to the opera sometime,” Hannibal said. It was an insignificant request, but it rocked Will more than it should have. It was an invitation into his world, it was the ‘come with me’, it was the temptation. The opera was such a fitting setting that it almost made Will laugh. It was the macabre mixed with the paisley ties and sorrow with windowpane suits and masks with leather gloves all swirling together like blood down the drain, swept under the rug and applauded. The request rested heavy between them. If he gave Hannibal an inch, he would be swept up in him. The demon was on his shoulder whispering in his ear, tempting him to say yes, _yes_ , yes.

what do you have to lose.

He pulled his eyes away from Hannibal and down to his glass as he swirled his wine, blood red and thick. He brought it to his lips. The beginnings of thoughts slipped across his mind, never forming any substance before the tails swirled into the beginnings of another.

There was a precedent to their relationship, Hannibal and him. Hannibal was the leader in this dance of theirs. His hand in his, step by step, Hannibal would sweep him across the dance floor in elegant arcs and tangling legs. Will trying not to trip. It was move and counter moves. Will thought of changing the tempo, falling out of step with Hannibal and the spiralling and twisting and the grasp for the lead.

“What are you thinking about. You look very pleased,” Hannibal said

“Something pleasant,” Will said with a small slanted smile, feeling a childish possession over his imagination. He was too used to courting demons. He knew not to give permission.

“Are you thinking of somewhere with a river or are you satisfied here?” Hannibal said surprisingly playful and teasing in that elegant way of his and Will’s head tipped back his smile growing.

The air was thick and tangible between them, weighed down by too many expectations and words unsaid. He watched Hannibal, who was suddenly too tangible in front of him. He was hyper aware of the weight of him, the flesh of him, the mass and blood and pulse. The mood shifted and Will was filled with the need to move, to not stay. He pulled himself to his feet, tipped unsteady on his legs before he catches himself.

He felt Hannibal stand and follow him. He trailed his hand across the back of Hannibal’s leather seat by his desk. The desk was now in between them. This was that type of night that could only end in one way with tension and passion simmering under the surface. Hannibal, slowly, elegantly and unrushed stalked around the wooden desk. Will put his glass carefully down on the desk. Hannibal was too close as he stepped around the desk and Will braced against the table as Hannibal closed the distance, memorised by the surety of his line, confident that the answer would not be no.

They are close enough that he could hear Hannibal’s breath hitch when he reached out.

Hannibal looked down.

Will slid the knife into Hannibal’s ribs.

Hannibal leaned into him, ground down and rose to meet him as hot blood wet Will’s fingers.

Like dancers, Will kept his eyes on Hannibal’s and watched his face, savouring every twitch and tremor. They were close enough that he could see Hannibal’s bottom lashes as they flutter. Hannibal staggered and crowded Will as he clutched at the corner of the desk as his knees gave out, trapping Will between his arms. Hannibal’s blood was a warmth spreading across Will’s chest as they press together. Blood was thumping in his ears drowning all his senses and making Will’s face hot. Will ran a hand over Hannibal’s cheek, leaving blood there and fisted a hand in Hannibal’s hair and pulled his face up so he could see his face again. Hannibal was smiling as his eyes glazed over and Will felt his full weight press against him.

He had just killed Hannibal Lecter.

* * *

Will woke up stretched out on his stomach, the blankets pushed mostly off himself. The paleness of early morning flittered through the window and the heavily sluggishness of sleep was slow to leave Will’s limbs as he laid there, dozing in a dead man’s bed.

He had been dreaming of a church.

Then the memories catch up with him. He remembers standing in a too hot shower last night, watching the blood like wine pouring down the drain. He dragged himself out of bed and ran his hands down his face. Last night had all been like a wonderful dream, an indulgent fantasy and now the mundane details, the technical drudge, the disposal, the scrubbing of blood stains that must be done are creeping in and pulled him back down to earth. It soured his good mood, spoiling whatever calm had slipped over him and he began to feel the prickles of irritation.

He pads down the stairs but faltered halfway down. Something sweet and fine wafted up from the kitchen.

In his kitchenette with its marble tops and steel countertops, Hannibal has his back to him. Again, like the night before he was surrounded by soft string music. He looked fresh in the morning light, the edges of him softened like a ghost of the night before.

“Hannibal” Will said simply and walks further into the room.

Hannibal turned around, shoulders then head. “Good morning, Will.”

By his standards, Hannibal was dressed down in slacks and a woollen sweater, his hair flopping onto his forehead. Will himself was down to his boxers and plain white shirt and tousled hair. It was all terribly domestic. Hannibal was plating up food, pancakes with homemade cream and freshly cut pomegranates.

“I had expected you up earlier, but I didn’t want to wake you. Come now and have breakfast” Hannibal said and like an obedient dog Will followed him out into the breakfast nook. Hannibal made a gesture to sit and he does, the morning light streaming in though the large windows and it’s too bright, compared to the night before. Like white sheets caught in the breeze he was airing out his secrets.

He had killed Hannibal last night.

This morning Hannibal is serving him coffee from the French press.

Will Graham was so undisturbed by this new fact. He was always so used to see the disturbing and to learn the horrors of what man did to each other, he felt like a clenched fist, white knuckled bracing himself. He already he felt his mind making room and settling on over the new reality. He skipped over the how and why and impossibly, it just falls neatly beside the many facts of Hannibal.

Hannibal cannot die. Of course, he couldn’t silly Will Graham.

“Now then,” Hannibal said setting down his fork, he seemed to be in a very good mood “How are you feeling after last night?”

“What do you want me to say?” Will said “that I…that I’m sorry-“

“No. Anything but that” Hannibal said “What do you really want to say?"

“You should have stayed dead. You were supposed to stay dead.” It was not shock that had blistered Will. It was irritation. It was disappointment. It was the loss of that glimmer of bliss and euphoria that was ruined. He felt foolish like a small child who didn’t get what he wanted. There was a new snake of a feeling coiling around his heart, making it hard to breath. It was anticipation.

There was something quietly shifting between them, established lines slipping across as they often do when secrets are whispered.

“Fortunately for the both of us, I did not remain that way.” Hannibal said “and don’t worry I don’t intend to press charges. It would be inconvenient for the both of us”

“Then what do you intend to do now?

“I think the real question is what you intend to do now.”

“I haven’t decided yet”

“So, tell me, after all that build up, after so long digging your heels in did it live up to your expectation?”

Will began to answer but they were interrupted by a phone ringing.

“Do you mind if I take this?” Hannibal said standing

“Not at all,” he said and Hannibal politely excuses himself from the table

“Good morning, Dr Du Maurier…. Yes of course…..I wouldn’t miss it….” He hears Hannibal say from the other room. Will takes the time to checks his own phone as well, he has a couple of messages from Jack Crawford and Alana which sours his mood even more. He doesn’t have to read they’re messages. They only reach out when there was trouble. Jack asking him to come running and Alana telling him not too. Hannibal was still on the phone and he doesn’t say his farewells as he slips out of the house still pulling on his jacket. As the door clicking behind him, Will turned with that itch of having left something behind.

* * *

The air was sweet and crisp out here. The river was sparking in the afternoon like a stained glass, his thoughts were a kaleidoscope of misery and ecstasy. Already he felt his mind wondering, following the flow of the river down the water and washing his thoughts downstream like a leaf from a fallen tree.

A chunk of him had been left in that room. He was quickly realizing part of him would always be watching Hannibal die. He had already relived it a hundred of times, reliving every shameful dirty detail in high contrast. Then Hannibal again. At the fall, rolling up to meet him.

He realized that he had handed Hannibal something. He had showed him the deepest part of him, the savage bared teeth. He remembered something Hannibal said to him a long time ago.

_“That demons were like obedient dogs, they came when called and came to trot around his ankles, eager to be loved.”_

Is it not true that the demon on your shoulder also made sure you never felt lonely?

“Will,” Hannibal was standing on the banks, sudden like he had always been there. It seemed as if Hannibal had been calling him more than once. He looked like a cut out so misplaced here, too clean and sterile. “Hello, Will” Hannibal said again.

They walk back to his house, Hannibal’s coat handsomely and precisely folded over his arm. The changing of the seasons was crisp in the air, the grass yellow and damp with dew and dying as they strolled stride in stride back to Will’s home. There was a flurry of life as they creaked up the wooden steps of the porch as a flood of dogs burst from the screen door, wagging tails and wet noses pressing into him. Hannibal not so much petted the dogs then smooth down their fur.

They thread carefully around the eager dogs and press into the house. The dogs quickly lost interest and went back to their chew toys and piling onto the sofa. Hannibal stood with his weight on both feet as he looked over the cups and dirty dishes left out from the night before.

“Are all meals you don’t have with me heated up in the microwave?” Hannibal said good humoured.

“Not all,” Will said with a shrug.

He knew what Hannibal was doing. It was like the first awkward meeting after a confession, the relationship undeniably changed, weighed down by new expectations.

“Have you been avoiding me at work, Will?” he said, “I was wondering when you’d come to my hearth again.”

“There was work to be done,” Will said “Do you want anything to drink.”

“Only if it isn’t instant coffee” Will doesn’t move.

“Well, which should we address first? My immortality or your slipping a blade between my ribs?”

There was an odd honesty between them, lies seen and easily noticed. There was a clarity between them, like looking through clear water straight down to the bottom of a deep lake. It was this honesty that made him say “It feels like you are trespassing in my mind.”

“You don’t want me there?”

“It’s distracting.”

“You haven’t left my study, have you?”

“I’m supposed to be a good person.” Will said quickly with a touch of desperation.

“And last night is the best you’ve felt in a very long time,” Hannibal said “Have you considered that you may be limiting yourself with that thought process. It is so to do horrible things for honourable reasons? Are we not just a sum of contradictory parts? You could reach your true potential if erase all these imaginary boundaries you’ve created for yourself.”

“I’ve been a good person. I like being a good person. I’ve been a good person for so long” Will said more firmly now. He felt choked, his fists so tight they go white.

“What if you could be something else” Hannibal said but when Will refused to answer he continued “Then what was last night?”

He had thought if he knew the colour of Hannibal’s heart, he could take a voyeuristic look into his soul and he would finally be able to make a decision about Hannibal. Now he can’t stop looking at his neck. He wondered if he pushed back his shirt would there be a scar?

“You would be so much relaxed with yourself. You are like a clenched fist bracing against yourself. Can you at least acknowledge that? Could you allow yourself to think about it? Not _worry_ but consider”

“Don’t you worry that you won’t come back?” Will said. He needed to change the topic before Hannibal’s words draped over his thoughts.

“There are worse things than death, Will,” Hannibal said, “Did you fear that I would become the ghost that haunts you?”

“You already haunt me.”

Hannibal smiled at that and took that as permission to close the distance between them. Slowly, so Will wouldn’t balk.

“Given the right circumstances, any man can commit any sin. You discover i cannot die look how easily you turn. examples. all I had to go was give you my neck.”

Slowly, Hannibal took Will’s hand in his own and smoothed open his clenched fist, holding it in both hands loosely. Hannibal was then guiding his hands to his throat, and Will’s breath caught at the beat of Hannibal’s pulse drummin against his fingertips. Hannibal was pressing down his own throat. This was it. It was the moment of weakness. It was the fall. It was the drowning, sweeping over him wearing him down piece by piece. The gasping, the laughing and the gurgle. He’s so vulnerable like this. Will had never once thought of Hannibal as vulnerable. It made him uncomfortable thinking about it. They stumble back and tip and they fall heavily to the floor, with Will’s knees on both side of Hannibal. That quite sense of power he had felt erupted into a mind-numbing fireworks as he squeezed down. 

* * *

He sat in the pews with his hands clasped and his head bowed. He’s not praying. The grand cathedral looms over him, stone and mason and thick with mirth, the light flittered through the stained glass and bathed the ground in blue and gold light.

Around him, devotees are on their knees, eyes squeezed shut, their lips moved in silent prayers as they surrender themselves. Wills eyes fluttered open and he unfurled his fingers and he turned his hands over, palms up, and spread his fingers. They are ugly hands, bony and calloused and rough. He can still feel the phantom touch of Hannibal’s pulse beating across the fingers.

Hannibal was lighting a candle, cupping it and sheltering it with a hand. He lingered there, with his hands clasped behind his back, standing with his weight on both feet, so impossibly still like one of the marble statues.

Hannibal had been telling him about how this cathedral had been restored after the war, the murals patched together, and the bricks re-laid. Some of the statues were still broken high on the ceilings, angels missing arms and legs and noses. He traced over the cracks like a little kid avoiding the cracks on the sidewalk. There was a little plague out on the wall by the graveyard.

And there Hannibal was. What cracks lay beneath the surface? What prayer does he say as he light the candle?

Will tried to consider it.

Then the large double wooden doors groan deeply as they are pushed open, groaning as if straining to themselves shut. People turn their heads to see who the new intruder is. There was the quite tap-tap-tap of shoes walked purposefully down the aisle of pews.

The pews are mostly empty so Will feels a prickle of irritation when she precisely sat next to him. Will forced himself to keep the eyes front, though he felt the hard pressure pressing into his side. From his peripheral, she clasped her hands in her laps, her eyes decidedly forward just like Will’s. She’s wore an elegant coat and neat gloves with her blonde hair swept over a shoulder. She sat stocked still but Will braced for the beginning of conversation.

“Will Graham,” she said like a title. At the same time, instinctively like a prey animal knowing a predator, he knew exactly who she was. He knew of her from the titbits that Hannibal mentioned about her in passing.

“Dr Du Maurier,” He turned to her a second before she turned to him, head turning before her eyes slid to him. Her eyes were like set stones, dark and severe. He felt her greys eyes slid across him with the same intensity as Hannibal, looking through him to the back of his skull.

  
“Were you praying?”

“No. thinking”

“Of Hannibal?” Will bristled at that. There was the weight of understanding between them and it pushed Will off balance and he fought for his footing.

“Not exactly” Will felt that same childish possession. Having Hannibal’s eyes on him was like feeling the sun on his face. Radiate warmth

“Are you familiar with Turandot, Will Graham”.

“I know the basics.”

“In Turandot, the prince fell in love with the queen when he saw her behead a suitor. I’ve always felt there was an arrogance there.”

“An arrogance?”

“A confidence that he couldn’t so easily be the next”

“Is this a warning?”

“No, Will Graham” She said “Warnings will not work on you now. You have been warned from every direction and yet still here you are. You no longer belong to yourself”  
“I don’t belong to him”

“No, you don’t. You sit here and he sits there, and you’re pulled by gravity. You’ve seen the blood on the carpet and you are sit patiently waiting for it. But no, you do not belong to him.” He got his snared in you so deep

“This is a warning isn’t it” Will said, grasping at the end of a realization “You’re not warning me about Hannibal. You’re warning Hannibal about me, aren’t you”

She smiled that tight cold smile again as if she was amused by this if not a little impressed.

“He had opened up to you and you just turned away with your blinders on. Were you scared of what you’d see or that you’d like it and that won’t want to look away? Or is it that you were scared you’d see yourself. He could have given you the world.”

“it sounds like you’re advocating for him?”

“How did you react to his immortality?”

Will shrugged “I didn’t really react”

“Were you so ready to accept any aspect of him as he is? Were you not at all curious how he came to be?”

“How did you react?”

She didn’t so much shrug then adjusted her shoulders “I didn’t have to”

The realization settled and he same the same stillness he sees in Hannibal. “You’re like him, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, we share in the same eternity. We have a history.” She leaned in there, Will flinched back but she’s in his space, her breath ghosting on his ear and tingles prick down his spine as she whispered “He eats me.”

There was pang close to jealousy.

“Will graham.” She said as she stood, her smile disappears “It’s nice to finally to put a face to the name” She walked to where Hannibal was. Will watched as Hannibal kissed her hand and smiled.

* * *

Will dreamt of the black deer, steam billowing as its great nostrils flare. It turned fluidly and he followed. He ambled along like a sleepwalker as he stepped over a tangled field of corpses with the same face. The black deer bellows and he titled his face to the sky, his breath fluttering as the first raindrop of a storm drops onto his cheek, warm blood tearing down his cheek.

* * *

It’s several weeks later, Will graham watched Hannibal eat from across the dinner table and considered the sensuality of eating. It seemed excessive, to make a showmanship out of simple necessity, to mix grinding and gashing teeth with silk napkins.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Will said, his fork still near his lips, “about the opera.”

“oh?” Hannibal said, “what made you change your mind?”

“you asked me to consider it. This is me considering it.”

Hannibal seems pleased, “I shall make the arrangements”

“Do you expect me to wear a suit?”

“I am sure you would look delightful. I could assist-“

Hannibal cuts himself off and Will saw the first flicker of change in Hannibal’s face. Something dark swept over Hannibal’s face, like a curtain falling as Hannibal wiped his mouth with his silk napkin and placing it down on the table with a little bit more force. Hannibal pulled up from his seat, rising from his seat, hands flat on the table.

“That was quite rude will. Poisoning my food” his voice was a dangerous growl.

“I thought you would smell it” He said, playing with danger.

Hannibal slammed him against the table. The cutlery jumped and rattled, and the wine spilled. Hannibal’s hands crushed his throat and crowded him as he folded over him the table. There was the flash of mortal panic and Will clawed marks into his arm before his hands fall away. A wild rush of blood and a smile smears over his face, his eyes wet with viciousness. His vision began to blur before Hannibal’s grip weakens and he crumpled and slumped over. Will catches him with Hannibal’s head slumped over his shoulder.

Will gets to work, throwing off emotions to his feet. He worked by moonlight and drenched in sweat as he shovelled loads of dirt over his shoulder. His arms and shoulders are on fire and his hands blistered. He’s killed Hannibal. He’s killed Hannibal. He’s killed Hannibal again he thought in time with each heave. He repeated every sick and twisted thing he knows Hannibal has done and pushed on. He doesn’t know how much time he has as he dragged Hannibal by his shoulders, stumbling clumsy backwards and into the hole. Like this, with his features relaxed, Hannibal seemed so much younger and tranquil. The first shovel full of dirt splattered across Hannibal’s chest.

Hours later and only the freshly turned dirt was evidence. Will was covered in sweat and dirt as he looked down at his work.

Will walked away. The woods are dark and silhouetted. All there was to do was to forget. He would be free of the problem that was Hannibal. But could he forget Hannibal? He’s still felt all the finger marks Hannibal had left where he had rearranged his insides.

Again, he was trapped in the moment.

No, he would not be free of him even then.

_“There are some things worse than death, Will.”_

Hannibal would become a ghost that haunts him.

His pace slowed before he stopped and thought about the stillness and quiet of the night. He was smothered by the delicate suffocating loneliness of eternity.

He was a murder. Will was capable to admit that. Just walk away. Just one more step. His muscles had seized up and his feet were frozen in place. It would be so simple. He had fragmented, splintering and fracturing like a split glass.

 _There are worse things_ Hannibal whispered into his ear.

He would be not be capable of that cruelty.

Will graham swore, sharp like a gun shot.

* * *

Will laid Hannibal gently onto the bed, laying his hands by his side. Will sat by his hip and sponged the dirt and mud from Hannibal’s face and arms. He was so impossibly still. He waited sitting with his hands clasped together trying not to hold his breath. Each second seemed to stretch further. They had been caught in a cycle for so long, chasing each other round and around nipping at each other’s heels.

A new imagine formed unwanted into his mind. All Hannibal’s elegance gone as mud fill his lungs, nails bloody and finger tips shredded as he clawed at the dirt. Round and a round and a round again like Prometheus haunted by the eagle that eats his liver.

What would he say if he saw him waiting like this, stewing with worry?

_When you asked if I worried if I won’t come back, was that for my peace of mind or yours?_

He thought in Hannibal’s voice. _Was it the rise or the fall?_

He let himself consider it.

It felt like a dam breaking and the river swept over him and he sank into his hands and covered his face. Will was a child huddled under the safety of his blanket, daring the first brave peek over the covers to realize that it was his own shadow and Will felt the hot flush of embarrassment hit that he had been so foolish the entire time.

There was only one thing to do. He turned to Hannibal. Dr Du Maurier words echoed, the ghost of her breath on his ear. She had already told him the answer. He was so sure about the idea he hadn’t had for 10 minutes. He let himself sink into the feeling.

* * *

Later that night he sat on the edge of his bed as the rain patters softly outside. The coppery taste still clung to the roof of his mouth. He held the gun flat in his hands. He left before Hannibal had woken up like the thief in the night. Somehow the dogs knew, and they whined and whimpered around him, sniffing at the back of his hands as he shooed the dogs out of his bedroom. They bark and whine and scratched frantically at the door. He brought the gun to temple and pulls the trigger.

* * *

Hannibal met him at the opera house. Hannibal saw him first and looked untouchable like a predator in its natural habitat. He’s wearing a different fragrance than usual which makes it all seem more different than it is. Will wore his best suit that he rarely has the occasion to wear and adjusts it as he walked up to Hannibal.

“Hello, Will” Hannibal said. “Are you going to kill me tonight?” it wasn’t the _pleasegodidontwanttodie_ , it was the casual _no don’t do that_. He was so sure of himself back to his usual easy charm. It was the reassurance that he needed.

He shook his head, smiling a little, “Not tonight.”

“That’s good. It would be a shame. You look impeccable.”

Hannibal lead him into the opera house with a hand hovering on the small of his back.

It was as if he was being swept into another world, he had severely underestimated Hannibal if he thought they would just go straight to their booth, but elegant people sweep up to Hannibal flocking to him like flies to a flame. All the time he kept a steady hand on him to stop him from being swept away.

Thankfully, Hannibal cut a conversation short before too long, for his sake, and lead him up marble stairs and opened the door for him which lead to a private box. The box like everything was elegant, draped with blue fabric and overlooking the seats below like a doll house as people start to file in. He settled into one of the seats and overlooked the entire concert hall, classic gold mouldings, and crystal chandelier and a thick velvet curtain. Out of sight, the orchestra was tuning in a sympathy of chaos. 

“You look like you want to say something to me” Hannibal said as he settled next to him, crossing his legs.

“Nothing we haven’t talked at length before.”

“Tell me anyway. You go quite and I lose you when go you’re into this mood.”

“I am in a good mood.” Will said with a lift of the eyebrows “I’ve been thinking about what you were saying, about relaxing”

“you see, you could be so much more comfortable with yourself.”

The lights dim further and the curtain begins to rise.

He had started this night as pension, a vow for forgiveness for a potential sin but it slipped away quickly enough. His eyes drift in the dark, the dark a curtain that protected him. Hannibal’s eyes are transfixed on the stage as the opening notes fill the hall. Hannibal’s hand was just resting on the chair, his hand so casually impeccably laid there. He thinks of resting his hand on Hannibal’s just to see the reaction, which spawned thoughts of Hannibal bringing it up and kissing his knuckles.

Hannibal’s hand was on his.

Will wasn’t sure if he was the one who made the first move or Hannibal. Will lets Hannibal turn his hand over so his wrist was facing up, his eyes still not distracted from the play. He pushed back the edge of his sleeve and ran his finger over the soft inside of his wrist. He traced the vein there up under the edge of the cuff. He briefly wondered if Hannibal would undo the button.

From the dark corners of his mind, he imagined Hannibal slitting the delicate vein as he traced the it, a pretty little line of red. Little rivers of red drip down Will’s hand as he bleed out silently with Turandot in the back ground for all to see and non to see.

He imagined doing it to Hannibal. He imaged Hannibal consuming him. He now knows the copper taste of Hannibal. He takes slow hard breaths, trying to keep quiet.

It feels like he’s drowning

He pulled his hand away. Slowly, not snatching, so there was the brush of skin against skin. Hannibal did frown then even as his eyes are locked onto the stage, his face cast in dark shadows and harsh lines. The phantom touch still lingers there on his wrist.

He felt something tearing and falling away. The darkness was lifting and he couldn’t bear to be seen in the light.

He felt Hannibal get up and follow him again. The halls are empty and the marbles are hard and unyielding. He hears hannibals footsteps echo behind him like a shadow pressing into him.

“Running away again, Will Graham,” Hannibal said at the top of the stairs standing there in that solid way of his. Will stopped but didn’t turn “I asked you a question.”

Just take one step but he felt as if Hannibal already had his hand around his heart.

“I don’t want to feel like I have to brace myself against you.” He said

“Then don’t”

“You make me not want to be a good person”  
“Then be a bad one.”  
“and I want to be good. I have been good”

“That may have been true once.” Hannibal said “You were good at playing good but that was before you put me in the dirt.”

Hannibal took another step

The knife slipped into his back and Will staggered. He brought his hand to his eyes and saw the slick red. Hannibal lets him lean back into him, his back pressing into Hannibal’s chest. He could feel the rise and fall of Hannibal’s chest as his own breath started to hitch and flutter. Hannibal’s forehead come’s to rest of his shoulder, inhaling. He knows murder exceptionally well. He had made it his business and now he knows it first-hand. Hannibal took his hand again and there was the warm wetness of his mouth as Hannibal presses his fingers to his lips. He can taste copper on his tongue. Will tries to speak but it gurgles and wet.

The fond smile tilts his head upwards as Hannibal holds his face up. Will Graham struggled for a smile. And somehow Hannibal knows as if he already intimately acquainted the darkest parts of Will’s mind.

“So, I did tempt you. Well done, Will.” There was a quite triumph, there was a sharp smile as the dark veneering his vision. “Did you take more then necessary? Did I taste that good?” 

And with that Will Grahams dies.

The next morning, Hannibal cooks him breakfast.


End file.
